I look around but no one is paying attention. Here in the middle of town a young woman has begun to fight to keep her little boy and nobody cares. It’s like everyone is immune to the drama unfolding.
“Well it’s clear to me that you’re not capable of caring for your child so I’m going to have to take care of things my way.” The police officer announces.
“There you are Melinda! I thought I’d lost you.”
A tall leather clad biker has just trotted across the street and is standing next to the woman. His back is to me but his voice is very distinct; its Adam.
“You know this woman?” The cop asks. It’s clear from the man’s voice that he does not like the biker or that he is interfering with what he is about to do.
“Of course. I was supposed to have her place ready hours ago but I just got buried in paperwork.” The biker replied.
“You got buried in paperwork? Really and outlaw biker filing papers?”
“It’s my least favorite thing in the world but it’s a necessary evil.”
Then to my amazement he holds out his hand to the woman. She takes his hand and he hauls her up. Her son gets up to and by the look on his face he is clearly confused.
“If I see her again out here with that child,” the cop begins, “I will take him into Child Protective Services.”
The color drains from the woman’s face. Clearly she thinks the biker guy is just helping her get away from the cop and not that he’s really interested in helping her out beyond that. Funny but that’s what I was thinking as well.
“Now why would she be out here when she’s got a place of her own?” The biker replies.
“No one is that nice!” The officer says. “She’ll be out here again and when she is its bye bye kiddo.”
Having got his last dig in the cop heads back to his car. As I turn to leave I catch Adam’s parting shot.
“And they wonder why we hate cops!”
As I get back in my car I’m still stunned and not sure I believe everything I just saw and heard. If it was any other biker I for sure would have thought this was some kind of scam. But the fact that it was Adam makes me think what I saw was genuine care for another human being.
What kind of world has this become where the cops are the bad guys and the bikers are the good ones. Kinda gives me hope for the future.
Friday Night at St. Joseph’s Memorial Hospital…
The last four hours has been a constant reminder of why I chose to work in a hospital rather than a doctor’s office. We have been flooded with people who would normally go to a doctor had they any kind of insurance. Because they don’t have health coverage anything from the sniffles and sneezing to achy bones, vomiting and diarrhea sends them crawling to the emergency room where we treat them regardless of their ability to pay. It’s enough to put me to sleep and I nearly am as I spend my lunch break resting my head on a desk in the nursing office. My eyes close for the tenth time when a sudden siren jars me awake like a cold cup of bad coffee. I run out of the nurse’s office and am nearly bowl Michael over who seems to be shaking the cobwebs from his mind as well.
“What do we have?” I ask as we both hurry to the triage desk.
By the time we reach the front desk by the department’s entrance two ambulances have pulled up and are disembarking with two leather clad patients. Thinking we have some sort of MC war on our hands I intercept the lead gurney and look for the victim’s cut. His patches declare him a member of the Sons of Ash. The same club that Adam is Vice President of. This may mean they are at war with one of the other bigger clubs in the area, probably Cycle Demons. I hurry over to Trauma Room 2 where they’re preparing to transfer the other victim from the gurney to the table in the middle of the room.
“Is he Cycle Demons?” I ask as I enter the room.
“Son’s of Ash,” one of the male nurses replies over his shoulder.
Finally someone wised up. Last time there was a conflict between two opposing clubs nobody thought to separate them and we ended up with members from both warring MC’s. It was a nightmare.
They don’t seem too bad off and are being well cared for so I decide to call over to Mercy Hospital and find out what the other clubs name is just so I know what’s going on around here.
Ten minutes and three hospitals later and all I get are reports of injured Sons and no one from any of the other half dozen clubs in the area. I’m pretty sure something significant is going on here but I just can’t quite place it.
Hanging up the phone I step out of the nurse’s office and right into the path of a fast moving gurney. The resulting collision puts me on my ass. One of the paramedics grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet without even slowing down. I take a quick look at the biker on the gurney and nearly faint; it’s Adam. What is going on around here? If my math is correct that makes eight wounded Sons and no one else seems to be involved. That must mean that the club is fighting among themselves, and while it’s not all that uncommon, it is at this scale. If there are 8 bikers in various ER’s that means there’s probably at least that many more that have either refused treatment or are too far gone for treatment. I decide my energy is best spent with Adam so I focus my efforts on him.
As soon as they have him transferred from the gurney to the trauma table I go to work. The paramedics have already removed his jacket and tee shirt so at least I won’t be blamed for slicing up his coveted motorcycle jacket. If I’m right it’s lying in ribbons in that huge bag on the floor. Paramedics are notorious for cutting off clothing or anything else that gets in the way of doing their initial assessment. We on the other hand usually take the time to remove clothing the normal way. I guess I shouldn’t blame them. We have multiple people at our disposal to help out while they’re often working with one partner or alone and time is rarely on their side.
Adam has three dressings already in place and I’m told he has been the recipient of a knife attack. The main one that concerns me is the slashing wound across his left rib cage. If that one has penetrated his lungs there’s going to be a problem. He has several other puncture wounds but at the moment it’s impossible to tell if they’re deep enough to have affected any vital organs.
Just as I’m thinking my lucky stars that he is unconscious and therefore cooperative, he actually wakes up. Of course with him he can’t just slowly open his eyes and take a deep breath. Instead he suddenly grabs my right hand with his left and his other one seizes me by the throat. For a second I can tell he is seeing but not seeing; well, not seeing me at least. I try to free my arm but he has me in this vice-like grip. With my air supply so thoroughly cut off my vision is rapidly growing dim. With my free hand I grab for the tray of instruments beside the table hoping to find something sharp.
I try to call for help and I try to scream Adam’s name but with the chokehold firmly in place nothing comes out but a soft squeak. Finally my right hand settles on a scalpel. This is probably a bad idea, but I’m fresh out of good ones. Using the side of the table I manage to dislodge the cap and brandish the razor sharp blade hoping he’ll see it and come to his senses. He doesn’t.
I have one chance to make this work before I completely lose consciousness. I hate to add another hole to the man whose just been used as a pin cushion but what choice do I have? I plunge it into the meaty part of his upper arm and shoulder. In my defense I was planning on just sticking him one time and dropping the scalpel to the floor. Can I really help that my arm just kinda went into jackhammer mode and stuck him…well, a half a dozen times? It did the trick though.
He let go of my throat. He also backhanded me across my right cheek. He didn’t use his full force, but it was enough to bring tears to my eyes.
“What the hell?” I shout.
“What ever happened to do no harm?” He asks, looking over at his bleeding, pin cushioned shoulder.
“Do you knot see your hand print on my throat?” I complain as I massage my windpipe. I can’t believe I can still move air through it the way he was
squeezing.
“Sorry… Last thing I knew I was fighting these two guys with knives and suddenly someone is looming over me and I’m lying on the ground. Well, lying on a table. It was a little disorienting.”
“Well now you better hold still because the number I just did on your shoulder is the least of your problems. You do seem to be breathing okay so maybe your lungs are fine.”
He’s just about to say something else when Doctor Michael Shanahan walks in.
“It’s you,” he says by way of greeting.
The good doctor’s face is still showing signs of the beating he took last week at the hands of my ex. The whole experience has soured him on the whole biker thing and tonight his ER is full of them.
“So what happened here?” He asks Adam.
“Someone,” Adam begins while glaring at me, “went postal on me.” Adam replies, indicating his bleeding shoulder.
The doctor glances at the six tiny puncture wounds. “Strange, these aren’t the same blade used on your other wounds. Were you attacked by more than one person; both using knives I assume?”
I do my best to communicate to Adam to not throw me under the bus, but he just smiles and throws.
“Three attackers actually,” Adam begins. I can tell he is savoring the moment. “Two bikers and one completely nuts woman.”
“What was she using, a nail file?” Doctor Shanahan asks.
“A scalpel actually.”
“Really?” All the while that Doctor Shanahan is talking to Adam he is working on his wounds and getting him ready for x- rays when he is stable enough to transport. “Where’d she get a scalpel?”
“Right over there.” Adam replies, pointing to the tray where I got the scalpel from.
Now Michael is confused. He looks at Adam like he’s waiting for him to laugh at his own joke, but when no laughter is forthcoming he really gets confused.
I have to step in. “Sorry Michael, it was me.”
“You gave some woman a scalpel?” He asks me.
“I was the one who used the scalpel on his shoulder.” I reply.
The doctor looks at me for a moment then says; “Well this should be good; speak!”
“I was working on him when he just wakes up and grabs my throat. I nearly passed out and he only let go when I stuck him in the shoulder.”
“But…three, four…five times? You couldn’t have just stuck him once and been done with it?”
“Sorry if I lost count while I was blacking out. I just did what I had to do to stay alive.” I reply.
“Perhaps you should steer clear of sharp objects for a while…” He says, giving me a reproachful look. Then after a moment. “Why don’t you wheel him to x-ray? That is if you can refrain from turning him into your personal pin cushion again, that is.”
I refuse to answer that one. Instead I just wheel the gurney over to the table and together we slide Adam across. Five minutes later we’re in the x-ray lab getting his pictures taken.
Lucky for Adam, none of the wounds affected his lungs or any vital organs. He lost enough blood that he’ll need a transfusion and he’s going to have quite a collection of stitches by the time he leaves the ER.
By the time I finish closing the last wound it’s nearly four in the morning. What a bizarre night! Finally I get around to asking the questions that have been plaguing me since the first biker was wheeled into our department.
“Who were you guys fighting last night?” I ask. “Was it the Cycle Demons again?”
He shakes his head. “You know how sometimes you can be your own worst enemy?” He begins. “Well, tonight we really are.”
“What do you mean?”
“We…as in Sons of Ash. There’s some serious shit going down and you’re probably gonna be seeing more of us before the weekend is over.”
“I don’t get it?”
“Neither does he,” says a voice behind me.
Never in all my years of being around the biker element, have I heard a more evil, menacing voice than the one right behind me. Immediately the color drains from my face and my breath catches in my throat. I want to turn around and face whoever it is behind me, but I am terrified of what I will see.
“It’s okay, turn around honey. My fight’s not with you.”
It’s like one of those nightmares I used to have where everyone is moving normal speed but my own feet seem to be mired in molasses. It feels like takes me a full minute to turn around and when I do I wish I really hadn’t.
Towering over me is the evilest looking, tallest biker I have ever had the misfortune of standing next to. The word Vampire immediately springs to mind; but not the type that is so often romanticized in movies and television. I’m talking about someone who is completely void of all humanity; at least any of humanities redeeming qualities. This is a creature that should have been banished to hell; not standing in my ER. There is no way this is not going to end badly!
I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind but nothing comes out. In my mind I have this whole speech prepared that is sure to have him shaking in his motorcycle boots; a kind different take on the scorn of a woman and all but I just can’t make it come out. The only thing that finally issues from my mouth is a couple squeaks and the sound of my teeth rattling as my whole body begins to shake in terror.
“This isn’t the place Ripper,” Adam says behind me.
Ripper is a very fitting name.
“Oh I think this is the perfect place,” the spawn of Satan hisses.
As the two bikers regard each other I dare hazard a look at the menacing biker before me. He’s at least six and a half feet tall and is built for destruction. He’s wearing a black sleeveless tee and a black leather vest (cut) bearing the three piece patch of the Sons of Ash. He also has another patch that announces to the world that he is the president of the Sons as well. There’s a tattoo on the inside of his right arm of a knife with a long wicked looking blade. On the blade is rows of hash marks, and if memory serves me correctly, those are his count of the people he has killed in his lifetime. That makes this guy one hell of an accomplished serial killer. Depictions of death and mayhem decorate the man’s arms and on the side of his shaved head.
His eyes are a steely soulless gray and they are so intent with hatred it’s unbearable to look into them. Instead I settle on his mouth. He’s got an ugly scar just below his chin that curves up along his right cheek and to the corner of his eye. Somebody laid him open like a fish fillet. I can barely breathe. It’s like his very presence just sucks the life out of the room. How’d this guy get past the security guards anyway?
I hear a sound behind me and its Adam swinging his legs down over the side of the table so that he is in a sitting position. He should not be even siting up given how much blood he’s lost.
Slowly he slips off the table and his right hand reaches instinctively for his knife. When he realizes he doesn’t have it he swears under his breath.
“Missing something brother?” Satan asks.
“Guess I’ll have to gut you with my bare hands.” Adam replies.
“How could you give up your weapon and your cut? How pathetic?”
Adam looks around. He kinda looks naked. Not because he’s only wearing his jeans, but because he doesn’t have either his leather jacket or his vest.
I finally find my voice and a smidgeon of pluck. “Look…Ripper, are you really going to attack a man who has just lost so much blood his head is spinning? He’s in no shape to fight. It’ll be like stepping into the ring with a child. Where I ask you, is the honor in that?”
“I couldn’t give a fuck about honor missy. Now are you going to stand here in the way and get gutted yourself or are you going to step aside and let us work this out ourselves?”
“You’re in my ER,” I reply. “That means he’s under my protection whether I like it or not and I am bound by a code of ethics to defend him even to my death. So if you really are that big of a pussy then take your best shot!”
I can’t believe I just said that. I just told off the spawn of Satan… or more like the devil himself. He dashes all my hopes of shaming him into non action when he slips a long evil looking knife out of his boot. Then he does the unthinkable. He licks the edge of the blade so that it opens up a cut along the flat of his tongue. When he licks his lips his teeth and mouth are partially covered with blood; gross! That had to hurt, but his eyes don’t register anything. They just bore into my soul I get the feeling he thinks he can pierce or even remove my soul with his stare. I can feel it too. Maybe it’s just fear but I can feel this alien presence rooting around, poking at my resolve and I feel like if I were a weaker person he actually could influence me; in a very bad way.
He really does look like a vampire now with his bloody teeth and blood smeared blade. I can’t help but wonder what it’ll look like with my blood dripping down that cold steel edge and onto the white tile floor.
He takes a step towards me and my mind suddenly drifts back to my Kung Fu training I received after I fled from my ex. I was terrified for my life and sought out what was widely considered the most effective self-defense school in the area. But no matter how far I progressed I always wondered if I could really defend myself. I guess I’m about to find out.
Ripper holds his bloodied knife in front of himself with the point angled in my direction. I watched, mesmerized as a drop of his own blood trails down the razor sharp edge before falling to the floor. The second it hits the floor with a bright red splash on the white polished tiles my muscles spring into action. I fire a snapping kick right between his legs. I pause for a second, waiting for him to become a wobbling mass of jelly before dropping to the floor in agony but none of that happens. His eyes dilate for the briefest second before he lashes out with his blade. Without even thinking I slap away a thrust that would have skewered a pig and counter with fingers to the eyes in a downward clawing action; much like a tiger strike. It’s supposed to be the surefire kung fu method of blinding your opponent. Because you’re just clawing with your four fingers and thumb you don’t have to be super accurate like if you are just trying to stick your index finger is someone’s eye. You just need to get your ‘claws’ in the general vicinity to make the attack work. Unfortunately my attack amounts to no more than four embarrassing claw marks down his cheeks.
Edge of Ashes (Sons of Ash Motorcycle Club) Page 5
